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WELCOME
THIS IS CHRISTMAS
The season is positively magical. May you have a season
that is filled with warth, love, family, and friends. I hope
that we may inspire a bit of magic for your season. God
Bless and Merry Christmas.

“Happy, happy Christmas,
that can win us back to the
delusions of our childhood
days, recall to the old man
the pleasures of his youth,
and transport the traveler
back to his own fireside and
quiet home.”
— Charles Dickens
PHOTOGRAPH BY: DAVID GUENTHER

FOLK
VOLUME 3 NUMBER 5
CONTRIBUTORS
Alice Hale Adams
Leslie Adams
April Ballard
Ruth Barnes
David Guenther
Trudy Honeycutt
Jen O’Connor
Blake Pack
Linda Reid
Rikki Snyder
Jaquie Wheeler
Kyle White
CUSTOMER SERVICE
contact@folklifestyle.com
FOLK
P.O. Box 195
Beaver Dam, KY 42320
INDEX
4 THE WISE MEN SMELLED LIKE SMOKE
8 CHRISTMAS TIME TO ME
10 HEIRLOOM ORNAMENTS
12 THE SIDE ROOM CLOSET
14 THE EMPTY CHAIR
16 PATTERN
18 SUE PARKER
22 THE CRANBERRY
CONNECT
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The Wise Men Smelled Like Smoke
There is an old joke that asks, “Do you know why
the wise men smelled like smoke?” Of course the
answer is, “because they came from afar.” In my
area of the country, the word “fire” often sounds
more like “far”.
Another version of the joke tells of the traveler
passing through a small town during the Christmas
season. This particular town had the tradition of
displaying a live nativity scene on the city square.
The traveler stopped to admire the scene and reflect
on the real meaning of Christmas but found this
scene to be a bit different from normal. The “usual
suspects” were on display: Mary, Joseph, Baby
Jesus, an angel, shepherds and even a donkey and a
sheep. What made this a most unique nativity scene
was the presence of three firefighters, all decked out
in their bunker gear. The visitor turned to a local
and inquired as to the reason for having firefighters
in the display of the Holy birth. The local fellow
answered, “Why, stranger, don’t you recognize
them? They are the wise men.” To that, the traveler
responded, “The wise men? Why are they in
firefighting gear?” “Don’t you know your Bible? It
plainly says ‘they came from afar.’”
This leads to my small town and church Christmas
pageants. No, we didn’t exactly replay “The Best
Christmas Pageant Ever” with the Herdmans, but we
did have a similar version one year.
My hometown boasted a population of 300 in the
1960’s and that figure hasn’t changed much since.
Although small in number of people, there have
always been an abundance of small churches. My
home is Centertown United Methodist Church.
Much like our town, my congregation is relatively
small in number. That never hindered the production
of a Christmas pageant each year.
The year was about 1964 or 65, as I recall. I was
about 10 years old and not quite old enough to
be a member of what was then known as MYF
(Methodist Youth Fellowship) so I landed a lesser
role in the play. I think that was the year I had a
non-speaking part as an angel in the nativity scene
that unfolded as the program progressed. My older
brother, Ronnie, played the innkeeper. He was 16
and probably thought he had outgrown church
Christmas plays and was “too busy” to bother
STORY: LINDA REID

with rehearsals. The night of the production
he did show up and gave the performance of a
lifetime…all without rehearsals and therefore, ad
lib. It was truly a great performance that nearly
stole the show.
Remember, I said nearly. My sister, Janet, played
the role of Mary. Her best friend, Vicky, was
the angel who appeared to Mary. “Hell, Mary!”
As you can imagine, that had the entire cast
in stitches every rehearsal. She, of course, was
supposed to say “Hail, Mary!” but it always
came out like “hell”. Rehearsals invariably had a
friendly argument between Mary and the angel.
“Vicky! The word is hail, not hell.”
“That’s what I’m saying. ‘Hell’, Mary.”
That went on for a couple of rounds before an
adult stepped in to move forward with rehearsal.
All the while we younger kids were taking our
places in the manger scene at the appropriate
point in the story. As most 7-11 year olds, we
found it difficult to keep from giggling all the
time anyway. Our angel proclaiming hell and our
ad lib proficient innkeeper only gave us fodder for
laughter.
We made it through the acting portion of the
program and then prepared for the grand finale…
our youth choir concert. We prepared several
traditional Christmas carols and had settled
into a more serious mood. A couple of ladies
had taken sheets of crepe paper and made choir
robes for all the young people. We assembled in
the pulpit area and arranged ourselves into the
practiced formation of a Christmas tree. A few
select “branches” carried small candles to serve
as lights on the tree. All went well as we sang
“Away in a Manger” and “Silent Night” in our
best angelic voices. The candle bearers had been
well coached and no candle came close to the
paper robes. Since I was one of the younger and
smaller singers, I didn’t carry a candle. A fellow
classmate of mine, Kathy, did, however.
She stood behind me and followed directions
carefully. She did not let her candle get near her
robe nor mine. She held it high enough to be
seen but, by the time we sang “sleep in heavenly
peace” the final time, her arm apparently got
tired and she had lowered her candle to a point
right behind my head…and a bit too close. My
hair, in some recollections, caught fire. Mom
played piano for us and as soon as the last note
was played she saw what was happening. She
quickly jumped up and “patted” my head to
keep it from burning my scalp. I didn’t realize
what had happened but did notice an odd smell.
Although my head didn’t actually burst into
flames, it did singe the hair on the back of my
head enough that I had quite a bald spot for some
time.
Needless to say, we never use real candles in
such a manner. Our Christmas pageants may
not have as much flair (or maybe that should
be flare) but the tradition of small town church
Christmas plays continues. Strains of “Away in
a Manger” and “Silent Night” often mix with
more contemporary carols but the spirit stays the
same. We all probably grumbled about having to
be in those productions each year but I’m willing
to bet every one of us will have to admit that
some of our best childhood memories center on
those rehearsals and presentations…complete
with shepherds in bathrobes.
I may not have been a wise man/woman but I
definitely smelled like smoke!

Komedal Road
www.komedalroad.com
KR

CHRISTMAS TO ME...
A reflection on changing traditions and steadfast favorites.
When reflecting upon what Christmas means to me,
thoughts of family and friends immediately come to my
mind. I think back to a time in which excitement was
true and genuine. My memories of Christmas include
my family taking me out on Christmas Eve to explore the
lights and sights of Christmas. We would drive around
for what seemed like hours listening to Christmas music
and taking in all of the lights. I thought this was magical
and I looked forward to it every year. I also like to reflect
upon Christmas as I envision it now and the ways in
which I hope to carry on and begin new traditions…
Snow is falling, friends and family have gathered, and the
laughter is genuine. Gifts are wrapped ornately and it
would be my hope that everyone has decided to exchange
handmade gifts. I find with each passing year, that I
really cling to fond memories and find so much comfort
in these times. I sometimes just want to get lost in these
memories. There is beauty in these memories that may
seem simplistic, but that is what makes them beautiful
and why I cling to them so much. The simple things in
life such as laughing with family and friends, watching
the snow fall, sharing childhood Christmas memories, a
Christmas carol that moves us to tears, or deciding on
the perfect gift really encompass the true and genuine
meaning of Christmas. The department stores and flashy
gifts do not mean anything compared to the love and
memories that are attached to Christmas in my mind.
We all have Christmas traditions that we take part in;
whether it be baking with a favorite aunt, staying up
late, wrapping gifts, or driving around to take in the
bright lights and Christmas trees in our hometown. I
imagine putting the Christmas tree with my family and
deciding upon the perfect placement of each ornament.
I’m laughing and talking with my family and the setting
would be perfect if there was a fresh blanket of snow.
However, even without the snow, Christmas still takes on
a deeply personal meaning to me and makes me want to
begin my own traditions to be handed down throughout
the years.
In recent years, I’ve started having breakfast for dinner
on Christmas Eve. It just feels warm and cozy and I love
the way that it brings both family and friends together.
Traditions are established not because of gifts or the
monetary aspects that are too often associated with
Christmas, but because of family and memories that
stretch across a lifetime. As I said before, one of my
favorite Christmas memories is decorating the tree with
my family. It may be that the ornaments aren’t perfect,
which to me is real and speaks to the Christmas spirit.
For instance, on my Mom’s Christmas tree every year is
the paper Mache Santa Clause that I made in my third
grade art class. Is it perfect and ornately crafted? No,
of course not, but even more perfect all the same in that
it means something to my family and reminds my Mom
of the moment that I gave her the ornament as a gift. I
think that ornaments often reflect life in this way and can
create memories of family, travels, and people that bring
a smile simply at the thought of them. I love it when
simply thinking of a person brings a smile to my face.
I also reflect upon a time in which I was creating art
projects at school and remember the excitement I felt as I
was about to give this gift to my family. This philosophy
carries over into my new Christmas traditions in that I
believe that handcrafted gifts mean so much more. I
think of these times in my life when I long to “just be”.
The phrase “just be” is something I try and remind
myself of daily but sometimes it gets lost or cast aside
due to the business of day to day life.
However, thinking back to a time in which the most
important part of my day was to create this paper Mache
Santa for my family Christmas tree gives me a sense of
nostalgia and I smile. I may not have all perfect and ideal
Christmas memories, but I have many that I cherish and
cling to and hope to create new traditions that both my
family and friends will value and look forward to every
year. I wish you the very best and warmest of Christmas
traditions and times this year and every year. I am going
to take time to “just be” this Christmas season and enjoy
my family and friends and the genuine memories and
traditions that we create. I wish you a magical Christmas
season with those close to you.
BY: APRIL BALLARD

HEIRLOOM ORNAMENTS
...small holiday tokens....
If we are lucky as adults, we have ornaments
from our childhood to pass on to our children.
If we are extra lucky, we have at least one
ornament from our parents’ childhood to covet
as our own. It is in these small holiday tokens
that live legacies of love and triumph.
My grandmother loved color. Pink and teal
particularly. Style gurus of 1950’s homemakers
had nothing on her. She raised my mother in
a Cape Cod style house my Grandfather built
high on a hill overlooking the Shetucket River
in Eastern Connecticut. Her kitchen was done
in teal tile, she served simple meals on bright
Fiesta dishes, and baked the finest éclairs
in New England. A silver tinsel tree was her
signature Christmas centerpiece and upon
it were hung the sweetest pink ornaments
Woolworths offered. Mingled in were blown
glass ornaments my Great Grandparents
brought with them from Czechoslovakia. And
in my Grandmother’s driveway a mammoth
1955 turquoise Buick was the envy of the
neighborhood. She would have to learn to
drive it after my Grandfather’s sudden death
when my Mom was only ten. Though years of
transitioning from a homemaking queen to a
single parent would bring difficulty, financial
strife and resilience, that silver tree was finely
decorated every Christmas as a testament to
my Grandmother’s, and my Mother’s, strength
to thrive.
Every December, I unwrap an ornament that
once hung on my Grandmother’s tree. I have
only one. I hold it to the sun as the light
shines through the mercury glass and shadows
tiny hand-painted blue flowers. I snuck it away
from my Mother’s collection one Christmas
when I was home from college. These were
the precious bulbs stored in a tattered box
with edges secured so many times the box
was pretty much tape and dust. Inside, the
vintage ornaments looked like creamy curved
marzipan treats peeking through time-thinned
tissue paper. My Grandmother had passed
away when I was a high school sophomore,
before I had a chance to appreciate the lessons
she often shared. This ornament is feather
light, delicate, ornate in its simplicity.
Just like my Grandmother. Four feet ten
inches and maybe 90 pounds after a hearty
meal. My Grandmother went to work in the
Ponemah velvet mills after my Grandfather
died. She never complained. Never cried where
anyone could see. Never gave the impression
that a woman needed a man for anything.
Always preached love. Always practiced
determination. Always shone with bright color
when most other women would have faded to
black.
Over the years I have collected vintage
ornaments to simulate my Grandmother’s
collection, to hold dear the memories my
Mother guards with old boxes in cedar chests.
To share in the silent strengths that hang in
the remains of love snuffed out too early.
Pink ornaments now cover my own silver
tinsel tree. And as my daughter joins me in
decorating, I share stories of my Grandmother,
my Mother, and the Grandfather I never knew
in hopes their legacies will fuel generations yet
to come. Merry Christmas!
STORY: JACQUIE WHEELER | PHOTOGRAPH: LESLIE ADAMS

Read more essays by Greta + check out her biography on our website folklifestyle.com

THE SIDE ROOM CLOSET
A SHORT STORY
STORY: ALICE HALE ADAMS

Fannie Lee celebrated her sixth birthday in the
weeks before Christmas, 1924. The excitement in the
house was mirrored in her face, the joy exhibited in her
inability to be still.
Her mother had spent weeks preparing for
Christmas. The candy was sealed in tins, pink and white
divinity, chocolate, peanut butter, and vanilla fudge,
and caramels. Cookies were layered between sheets
of waxed paper and a coconut cake sat waiting in the
cellar.
December 21 st was the day the tree was cut and
brought to the house. Papa chopped off the big limbs at
the base of the tree. Fannie Lee and her older brother,
Wellington, helped him place the tree into a bucket filled
with small rocks, dense enough to hold the tree upright
and allow for watering. The window at the front of the
house, far enough from the fireplace to avoid sparks,
was chosen as the place to show off the Christmas tree.
Their house contained five rooms, a living
room, two bedrooms, a kitchen and the side room, as
well as a screened back porch. The front porch reached
across the living room and front bedroom.
Mama used a little closet off the side room as a
hiding place for the tins of candy and boxes of cookies.
Tall shelves hid the Christmas presents that had been
purchased for the children. Outside in the cellar, along
with the coconut cake, Mama had wrapped apples and
oranges in brown paper and tobacco leaves.
Fannie Lee was curious about hidden things. If
she found herself alone in the house for a few minutes
she immediately began searching for the candy and
cookies she knew her Mama had made and put away
for Christmas. Tiptoeing through the front bedroom,
she looked in the dresser drawers and under the bed.
Disappointed, she slipped into the side room, peeking
behind the sideboard doors.
She rarely had more than a short time to look
but finally the day came when she wandered into the
closet. Immediately, she could tell by the aroma that she
had found the sweets. Listening for Mama, she picked
through the tins on the shelves. Climbing into a chair,
she reached as far as her arm would reach and felt the
tin boxes on the top shelf.
Joy filled her heart but she had to shove the
box back as she heard the back door open and slam
shut. She sauntered into the kitchen, acting as innocent
as a baby.
The next time Fannie Lee found herself alone
she dashed into the closet, climbed on the chair, pulled
down the box, opened the lid, and ate one piece of
chocolate fudge. It melted in her mouth. Shivers ran
down her spine.
She became braver and slipped into the closet
even when she was not alone in the house. She was
very quiet, scooting the chair across the floor without
a sound, climbing up and getting a piece of candy. She
ate a different kind each time so there would be some of
each left for Christmas. But soon she could tell the box
was less full and she felt afraid. She put the candy box
back on the shelf, vowing not to eat another piece. Then
she found the cookies.
She could hardly contain herself. She loved
cookies better than anything, even better than the
candy. It was hard to get them out of the wrapping
without messing up the whole container but she just
had to eat some. She took one of each kind, put them in
her pocket, returned the container to the shelf, and went
to the corner of the side room to eat them. They were
glorious.
On Christmas Eve morning, Fannie Lee began
to worry about eating the candy and cookies. She knew
her mother would be opening the boxes for everyone
to share. Maybe it would be Christmas Day before they
would eat the sweets. Would she get a whipping?
Much to her relief, Christmas Eve night came
and it was time to go to bed. The cookies and candy
were still on the shelf in the little closet. But with the
excitement of Christmas and being nervous about eating
the sweets, Fannie Lee couldn’t sleep. For a while, she
cried. Then she decided she wouldn’t be in trouble since
it was Christmas and she felt good and excited. It wasn’t
long until she cried some more.
She pretended to be sleeping when Mama
came to her bed. She didn’t move at all, although it was
hard to be still.
Soon after Mama left the room she could hear
soft noises coming from the direction of the Christmas
tree. Could it be Santa? She just couldn’t stay in bed.
She crept as quiet as a mouse across the floor to the
door, which had been left slightly open. The lamp was
burning in the living room, making big shadows that
willowed like ghosts on the walls. Fannie Lee was
scared, but not enough to make her go back to bed.
Her heart nearly stopped when she saw her Mama
hanging presents on the Christmas tree, a little truck
and a bag of blocks for Wellington, and for her a blue
lamp with a clear glass chimney. It was just the right size
to sit on the table in her playhouse. It was perfect.
Fannie Lee didn’t think she could be any
happier when, to her surprise, Mama tied a doll on the
tree. It wore a blue checked dress and small black shoes
and white socks. It was the most beautiful doll she had
ever seen.
She watched as Mama went to the closet to
get the candy and cookies. Fear gripped her chest.
Mama opened the boxes. Fannie Lee heard her sigh and
watched her shake her head. Mama spread the candy
and cookies on white plates, sat them on the table
beside the tree, and covered them with a clean cloth.
Then she went to bed.
Fannie Lee hurried to her bed. She stayed
awake as long as she could, thinking of the doll and
lamp. It only seemed like minutes when Wellington
woke her up to come to see what had been left for them.
They gathered their presents from the tree,
jumping up and down and squealing. Mama and Papa
sat in their chairs by the fireplace, watching.
After they settled down to play with their toys,
Mama passed around the plates of cookies and candy.
When she handed them to Fannie Lee, she winked at
her and smiled.

THE EMPTY CHAIR
AN ESSAY BY RUTH BARNES
I open the door and walk past the empty chair.
The chair that my Father sat in. As I walk into
my Mother’s kitchen, I am still very aware of the
empty chair. Everyday, until one year ago this past
October 2, 2013 when I would open the door, my
Father’s spot was a chair next to the front door.
He would have his hat on and a lot of times his
sunglasses. Sometimes he may have on two pair of
sunglasses, one of those being on top of his head!
He would hold up his hand and give me a high five
and we would laugh!
I walk back into the living room and stare at the
empty chair, and try to see him sitting there, and
I can. I smile and go over and sit in the chair and
try to remember and I do. I can sense his presence
and feel him in my heart and soul, and I know he
is there.
As the Holidays approach us, there is also sadness,
that my Father will not be in his chair or sitting at
the head of the table for our Holiday Dinner. It is
an odd feeling, a void, and also an awareness that
he is with us in spirit.
For all of us that have lost a loved one, I believe
the holidays are the most difficult. We think,
how can we go on without them? How can we sit
down to our Thanksgiving and Christmas Dinner
festivities and celebrate? Everyone has their own
way of dealing with the loss of someone they love,
and mine is to celebrate my wonderful memories
of him and know he is in a better place.
My mother sets his place at the head of the table,
and I now take that place. I feel his warmth
streaming through me and his loving arms around
me, as tears roll down my cheek, and he wipes
them away and tells me, I am here and I am good
with my soul.
We gather in the living room in front of the
Christmas Tree as we hand out the beautifully
wrapped packages. There is a gift under the tree
and the tag says, “To Dad”. We place the gift upon
his chair and say, ‘he would love this”.
My children deliver the packages to each person, a
tradition in our family that was started a long time
ago. They are now 24 and 19, but they still enjoy
the tradition of handing out the gifts. The paper
and bows start to fly as everyone opens their gifts.
The laughter and joy fill the room as we celebrate
this Christmas day with family and friends.
I look over at the empty chair and smile, and
my Father smiles back at me, and says, Merry
Christmas!

Bathe Well.
DOE
Organic Soap
www.portlandgeneralstore.com

CREATE
A HOUSE BECOMES A HOME
// 68 //

PATTERN
TRUDY HONEYCUTT
WINTER DEER
Learn how to make these country-style muslin deer.
The deer - a family of mammals that
includes the common deer for many of
us, such as white tail and mule deer,
but also includes larger members of the
species such as elk and moose.
This deer is just a primitive deer,
representing the deer family, but not
intended to be specific to any one
type!! It’s a FOLK deer! I believe he
will take us through many seasons,
including Winter, but on into Summer
and beyond as well. I can see him
displayed in some fake snow with some
bottlebrush trees for a winter or holiday
display! Have fun with him, reduce and/
or enlarge the pattern to make a family
of deer.
I made my deer from muslin, but you
might want to use another fabric. I like
to wash the muslin first, to remove the
sizing, but that is an optional step. Trace
the pattern onto doubled fabric, and
use the tracing line as your sewing line.
Leave open where indicated, and then
trim to about an 1/8th to a 1/4th inch,
trimming closer in tight curved areas.
Turn, clip all around, and stuff with
your choice of stuffing. I use polyester
fiberfill, but there are other options out
there. You might even try some sawdust
for a very early style primitive deer.
your deer’s main body piece is fully
stuffed, close the opening by hand. The
ears and the tail are not stuffed. Once
turned right side out, tuck the open
edges in just a bit, and hand stitch in
place onto the body and head of the
deer. I used very small stitches, but
since this is a primitive item, you might
prefer a more visible primitive stitching.
I grunged my deer using a mixture
of strong coffee, tea, vanilla, and
cinnamon and baked the piece at a
low temperature, turning frequently.
Line a cookie sheet with an old towel,
cover with parchment paper, and watch
carefully. If your climate allows, and
there aren’t too many birds, you can dry
your piece outdoors in the sun.
After the deer was dry I sanded with a
fine sandpaper, and stitched the eyes
with some black embroidery floss.
The antlers are little sticks that you
might find in your garden or yard. Mine
were actually from some rose bush
trimmings that I had allowed to dry
well. Make a little hole, drop a tiny bit
of glue, and push the sticks into the
stuffing until stable.
Feel free to email me if you have
questions or comments. theheadcrow@
aol.com
I like to stuff firmly, especially in the
small areas like the nose and feet. After
TRUDY HONEYCUTT | CROWS IN THE ATTIC

SUE PARKER
A HAND CRSFTED SEASON—A PEEK AT REPURPOSED TRADITIONS
Traditions are kept by the certain magic of
sharing them –whatever “they” might be —
among family and friends. By imbuing a holiday
with them, a collective memory of the annual
event is passed along the generations in taste,
color, song and story. Traditions evolve as they’re
enjoyed in familiarity; the best nod to all that’s
fresh among those that share in them, with
something new added each year.
More than any other American holiday,
Christmas is tethered to childhood through a web
of memories. Many of our fondest recollections
are fragranced with yuletide’s annual treats,
those fancy cookies and lovely cakes that beg us
still to indulge each season. Along with those
home baked confections, carols and of course,
gift giving form the cornerstones of so many of
our holiday traditions.
So, while the season simply wouldn’t be as fond
in memory without the scents and tastes we
know and adore, there’s another truly handmade
tradition to note. Each year, amongst the platters
of sugar cookies, eggnog and rum drenched
tortes, chances are there’s something handmade
that’s serving to set a mood as holiday décor, and
has been used as such for some time!
It’s often these decorations that are touchstones
in memory; they’re the handmade something
that comes out of its box in basement or attic
year after year to stand sentinel to the season,
again and again. The object – whatever it is --
becomes dearer as the years accumulate along
with the patina of age.
You must know something like that… something
you recall from Christmases past and still might
see on your mother’s hutch, mantle or Christmas
dinner table?
For me it was a small hand-carved wooden Santa
I played with each Christmas as a little girl. He
slid down a thin spring only for me to pull him
up and drop him time and again with his sack
of toys into a flocked paper chimney. He was
special to me because I played with him year
after year while he was out of his storage box
and displayed on the coffee table. I adored that
this tiny handmade decoration waited for me,
much like I waited for Christmas each year, a
child truly smitten with the season.
PRODUCED BY: JEN O’CONNOR

Most of us – even if it was a decade or
two ago – have made some kind of holiday
decoration and kept it from sentiment.
Or maybe what we treasured most was
something handmade and given to us as a
gift …something for the home or tree that
reflects the season and its sparkle.
Indeed, crafting for the season was
de rigueur in the earliest of modern
Christmas celebrations. The idea of gifts
or decorations being mass produced and
widely available is something that has
come late to this largely handmade holiday,
and seems to miss the festivity’s spirit.
As gift giving emerged as a tradition
in Germany, Austria and soon after in
England, the dark evenings of fall and
early winter were spent making special
treats by hand to gift loved ones. Early
American celebrations followed these
Western European ways, and small wooden
trinkets, knitted things and hand cut paper
whimsies were all common gifts to present
as tokens of love and friendship at the
holidays. How perfectly wonderful to still
share something handmade; a simple gift
from the hands is a gift from the heart.
As we reach to preserve and refresh the
tradition of handmade and add to our own
Christmas memories, nothing could be
more fitting for the holiday than the freshly
repurposed crafts from Skippy Doodle
Designs of Columbia, Connecticut. Crafting
maven and designer Sue Parker concocts
the sweetest of holiday décor from castoffs
and vintage loot. In her merry and able
hands everything from recycled cigar boxes,
forgotten tree-trimming paraphernalia and
even tinsel fragments find new life on her
one of a kind assemblages.
Indeed her studio reflects the North Pole
as she merrily combines textures and
objects creating a crop of new holiday
décor that simply suits the season’s folly
and joy. Among her favorite techniques
are marrying disparate castoffs in color to
tell a new story. In her able hands and with
a dose of festive imagination, an oddball
1950s paper house might meet up with
a lonely reindeer and become something
more fitting in a frenzy of mica drenched
snow. Likewise, a wayward elf finds a new
home among vintage bottle-brush trees
and wee tarnished bells. Her pieces each
tell a story of Christmas past with a nod
to the freshness of recycling and renewed
crafting traditions.
Handmade things hold all the joy
and sentiment with which they were
created. Season after season they can be
visually relished, and then tucked away
to keep the good memories in store for
the next holiday. So, if you don’t have
something handmade around the house
to help celebrate the holiday, consider
the handmade spirit of the season and
reach for something – or gift something
-- that can become dearer as it holds the
memories of each annual celebration.
FOLK would like to thank Sue Parker for sharing
her festive handmade creations with our
readers; her work is presented exclusively at
EarthAngelsStudios.com and at their Art Girls’
RoadShow events and appearances.

GATHER
SHARING THE TASTES OF AMERICA
THE CRANBERRY
A PRETTY, LITTLE, FESTIVE FRUIT
If you had to narrow it down to just one, where
is your favorite place to be this time of year?
Perhaps it’s in a field of Christmas trees, wearing
boots, jackets and scarves with a saw in hand
while you examine and take turns with your
family members on deciding which is the best
tree to cut down. Or maybe it’s on a neighboring
doorstep with a group of loved ones holding
candles and singing Christmas Carols. It may
even be on a snowy mountain with skis on your
feet getting ready to plunge downhill.
When I asked myself this question, I only had
to think briefly before I knew my answer. For
me, it’s simple- in my parent’s kitchen, baking
away, dancing and singing to our menagerie of
Christmas CD’s like the Nutcracker soundtrack
or, of course, Michael Buble’s Christmas album.
Every year my mom asks me, “So what cookies
are we going to make this time?”, even though
we always end up making the same ones. We’ll
mix in a new one every now and then but really
there’s nothing quite like tradition. We are
bakers. I’m always asked why or how I started
photographing food. I just chuckle and say, “If
only you knew my family”. At any given day this
time of year you can find us in sweatpants and
sweatshirts, my mom wearing the same green
knit and my dad in his ‘vintage’ red Christmas
sweater with a silly Christmas tree on it, baking
away, splitting up tasks and making delicious
food. Even now, this early on in my life, I know
that moments like these will one day be my
fondest memories, if they aren’t already.
No other ingredient screams Christmas quite like
the cranberry. It’s a pretty, little festive fruit.
Tangy and sweet. Full of nutrients and grown
in what I personally think is one of the most
fascinating ways. It holds such versatility- it
stands strong in salads, drinks, desserts and
savory appetizers alike.
STORY & PHOTOGRAPHY: RIKKI SNYDER

CRANBERRY PEAR CRISP WITH
CINNAMON STREUSEL TOPPING
5 peeled, cored Bosc pears
1 cup frozen or fresh cranberries
1/2 cup sugar
1 cup all purpose flour
1/2 cup soft butter
1/2 cup brown sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Toss pears,
cranberries and sugar in a large bowl. Let stand
for 15 minutes before transferring mixture to
an 11x7x2-inch glass baking dish. Combine the
remaining four ingredients in a medium bowl,
using your hands to evenly mix. Sprinkle over
fruit in dish. Bake for 45 minutes or until streusel
topping is golden. Serve warm or cool.
CRANBERRY MEATBALLS
2 pounds ground beef
1 teaspoon parsley flakes
2 Tablespoons soy sauce
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1 cup uncooked quick-cooking oats
2 eggs, beaten
1/4 teaspoon pepper
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/3 cup catsup
Combine all ingredients in a large bowl. Roll into
2-inch balls, arrange in a shallow baking pan. Bake
at 350 degrees F for 25 minutes. Drain and spoon
sauce over meatballs and continue baking for 15
minutes. Makes about 36 meatballs.
Sauce- Whisk together all ingredients in a medium
bowl
16 oz. Can jellied cranberry sauce
12 oz. Bottle chili sauce
1/2 cup brown sugar, packed
1 Tablespoon lemon juice
CRANBERRY CASHEW SALAD
1 1/2 cups dried cranberries
1 quart white wine vinegar
4 or 6 thyme sprigs
Peel of 1 lemon cut into slices
1 bag of mesclun mix
1 cup cashews
8 oz. Package crumbled bleu cheese
For dressing:
Combine 1/2 cup dried cranberries, white wine
vinegar, thyme and lemon in a glass bottle. Cork
and place in a sunny window for 2-3 weeks.
For salad:
Combine remaining 1 cup of dried cranberries,
mesclun mix, cashews and bleu cheese in a large
serving bowl. Pour over dressing, toss and serve. If
desired, top with grated lemon peel.
SPARKLING CRANBERRY PUNCH
3 Tablespoons sugar
12 whole allspice
3 cinnamon sticks
8 cups cranberry juice
3 bottles ginger ale
In a saucepan over high heat, combine sugar,
allspice, cinnamon sticks and 2 cups cranberry
juice. Reduce heat to low, cover and simmer 10
minutes. Cool and refrigerate. In punch bowl,
strain cranberry mixture, discarding spices. Add
remaining cranberry juice and ginger ale. Makes
about 16 cups. Tip: serve with orange sherbet for
an extra delicious punch treat.
— rikkisnyder.com

HI, I’M KYLE WHITE. I’ve been making pictures for a little over a year and love to shoot mainly
film. I’m currently in Utah which provides many great scenic opportunities to make good pictures.
These shots were shot with a my trusty Nikon F100 35mm film camera coupled with a 85mm 1.8 lens.
The Nikon F100 is fairly cheap, easy to use, and widely known for being a solid film SLR. To me film is
worth the extra time and effort since it produces art like results that match what is in my head while I’m
taking the shot; in essence, my vision.

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PHOTOGRAPH BY: BLAKE PACK
“Winter is Coming no. 3” shot with a Nikon f100 50mm lens, Kodak gold film.

B R E N T W O O D ~ C O O L S P R I N G S ~ L E I P E R ’ S F O R K ~ N O L E N S V I L L E
Stories as unique as you are.
AN ESSAY
GRETA MCDONOUGH
A New E
L I S A F O X , O W N E R
L E I P E R ’ S C R E E K G A L L E R Y
FIND YOURSELF IN OUR STORY.
V I S I T F R A N K L I N . C O M
The New England of my memory i
drenched and sandy lobster-boile
summer. Spring break, 1978, saw
Jo, heading north of the Mason-D
as any self-respecting college stud
Our destination was Boston and i
the whole of New England had b
twenty-seven inches of snow less t
We had a free place to
Plans were made, my bo
packed to the gills, and with a bor
headed out for Boston, Marblehe
where we would stay in a carriage
cousin, the artist. We looked at a
what with the distance and our tim
should drive straight through, a dis
1100 miles.
If youth is wasted on the
brains are not.
We had a few problems
unfortunate stretch of the Pennsylv
three in the morning where both o
and running on adrenaline, hallucin
creature running across the road, a
Groton, which cost us we time. We
hours later at her cousin’s carriage
from Abbot Hall and the Willard p
’76.”
There he fed us sandwic
romaine lettuce and avocado and
no longer in Bowling Green, Kentu
foreign and sophisticated that, hon
myself and my coarse ways from t
among us.
Which would be just abo
encounter in the next six days.
Jo’s cousin was older and
who made his living at the time by
structures. He assured us it consiste
My name is Lisa Fox and I’m the owner of
Leiper’s Creek Gallery. I’ve been in Leiper’s Fork
for 11 years. Initially, I was sent to paint a mural for
Aubrey Preston and was here for six months. While
I spent time here, I fell in love and did not want to
leave. I would hang out at lunch with everybody at
Puckett’s and talk about mending fences and chasing
cows and just absolutely fit in because I grew up on a
farm. And I was a painter so I loved the countryside
and painting the countryside. When it came time for
me to leave it was evident that I just belonged here.
Aubrey had remodeled an old Gulf Station building
and asked me if I would run it as a gallery. I never
expected to do any such thing. I was scared to death,
but I took it on and it’s been a learning process
ever since. Every day is a new day. We really have an
awesome stable of artists, some of the best local artists
around and I’m really proud of that.